


Whiskey & Wickets

by jiminyneesham



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: But they still play cricket, Joe is a dramatic drunk, M/M, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/pseuds/jiminyneesham
Summary: The usual composure at the crease gone in favour of giggles and unsteady feet. He makes the motion of tapping the ‘bat’ on the ground, the way he does before he cuts an unsuspecting bowler for 4.





	Whiskey & Wickets

**Author's Note:**

> For SLFE Prompt #10: Woakesy/Joe and I do love a good university AU (but entirely up to you) an established relationship would be nice. Oh but please include the lines  
> "Because, Well because I decided a bottle would be better than an actual bat because where am I going to find one of them?!"  
> "There's one in your bag"  
> "Oh"  
> in any context.

The time between the last class of the semester and the first exam of the semester is supposed to be for revision. Not for drunken backyard cricket. Yet that’s where Chris finds himself, nursing a bottle of beer. It is their last hurrah of sorts. The last time they’re supposed be preparing for exams. The last set of exams before they graduate.

Joe is drunk, Chris is slightly less drunk. Then again Chris isn’t the one facing up to bat using a mostly empty whiskey bottle instead of a cricket bat. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. 

They’ve known each other since Fresher’s week, have been dating since half way through their first year and living together since the start of their second year. Somehow, drunken Joe never ceases to amaze him though.

He thinks back to the first time they met, Chris was signing up to try out for the cricket team when a hurricane of Yorkshire sunshine came bumbling through the crowd, arms overloaded with bags from almost every society, club and team on campus.

“Hiya! I’m Joe,” and a beaming smile.

At the tryouts Chris and Joe were the only new recruits. Chris was late, his first lecture running over because of that one person in the front row who asks questions. It’s a lecture, save them for later, the rest of us have places to be. The point is he’s late. Joe is already there, kitted up facing throw downs from another player. Chris mumbles an apology, quickly dumping his kit bag on the ground. The captain suggests he has a bowl at Joe. Chris measures out his mark twice, for good measure. It feels good to have a cricket ball in hand again after a long period of study rather than sport. Chris drags his foot on the floor, like he normally would before taking his run up but the astroturf doesn’t give like grass does and he feels pretty stupid, but no one says anything so he just tries to quieten his mind. The shorter run up means he can put more energy into the delivery. He counts his steps as he runs in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Then the ball is sailing back over his head. There is a brilliant smile from under the helmet, the same smile from the week before.

Chris isn’t a brilliant cricketer, but he also doesn’t think of himself as terrible. He was never going to get a full county contract, but he was good enough to play under-18s for them. But it’s obvious that Joe has something special, especially when the next 5 deliveries are dispatched to what would be all corners of the ground. Front foot, back foot, through the covers. Chris is embarrassed to say the least, but the rest of them team don’t say anything about his bowling. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad.

Somehow they both make the team.

He didn’t have time to wallow in his embarrassment and hopefully hide away from Joe until the next training session. The very next morning in his 9am class, Joe bustles in and, of course, he makes a beeline for Chris. They go for coffee after, well he has coffee and Joe has tea, rambling about how he doesn’t need the excess caffeine asit sends him a little loopy.

“More loopy?” Chris half corrects, half asks and again he’s met with that brilliant smile and a laugh.

“Yeah, something more like that.”

Fast friends is an understatement. They spend a lot of time together after that. Every week after their only shared class they go for lunch, they meet at the bookshop before training every week, once a month they go out with the team for drinks and they always end up sitting with each other. They talk about most things, their courses (Chris is studying to teach Physical Education, Joe to be a Physiotherapist), their families (Joe has siblings, but he doesn’t talk about them much) and about home. For Joe, home isn’t far from campus, but for Chris it’s two hours away. At first the talk of home upsets him, the talk of familiar things that are so far away, not that he’d admit it, but he finds it hard to feel any ill will towards Joe. The same Joe that sends him funny pictures, cricket articles and questions about their class (Chris is pretty sure it’s mostly an excuse to start a conversation, but he never questions it).

They lose the first game of the season by more than 100 runs. Joe hits a sparkling 66, the last 19 coming off 10 balls in an attempt to save some face. The opposition are chirpy from the slips, talking about how they should have the other brother playing for them. At first it doesn’t make sense to him, but after his wicket falls for a measly 4 runs, he fishes his phone out of his bag and a quick google search tells him that Joe is the brother of Billy. The boy on a Yorkshire county contract, the man who has been dubbed the future England captain at the tender age of 16. The pressure would destroy most people, but Joe shrugs it off with a smile. That smile. 

The first game they win is on the back of 103 from Joe and a 3 wicket-haul from Chris. The celebratory drinks spill from the dressing room onto the team bus and then into the dressing rooms at the university. The older players go to party on at one of the nightclubs in town, but with Joe falling asleep on Chris’ shoulder they part ways with the team, making a line for Chris’ room. Joe mumbling about having to get home and Chris assuring him home is a long way away and being firm that he’s not doing the round trip in a taxi to make sure Joe gets home in one piece. Joe is finally manhandled onto the mattress once Chris has pulled it out for him, filling what little floor space he has in his university dorm. 

“This mattress is so uncomfortable,” Joe complains, just as Chris is about to fall asleep.

“Shut up, it’s the best I could do,” Chris murmurs back, his voice heavy with sleep. He rolls onto his otherside so he’s facing Joe and that’s his biggest mistake. He can feel and smell Joe’s breath on his face, meaning the other man has sat up, or at least propped himself up and obviously has no intention of sleeping anytime soon.

“You could sleep on the trundle and I could sleep on the bed,” Joe offers and Chris can almost hear the smile on his face, deliberately cheeky. Chris huffs hoping it will at least get Joe out of his face. It doesn’t.

“You could always sleep on the floor if you think that will be better?” Chris teases, rolling onto his back as Joe does the same. Chris hopes it’s a form of surrender but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out he was wrong.

“I made a hundred today, Christopher. That’s no way to talk to a world class batsman,” Joe says, with a huff that Chris can imagine is paired with a pout.

“Goodnight, Joe,” Chris says, finally. Joe is silent for almost a whole 2 minutes.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold in here?” Joe asks. Chris hangs a hand over the side of the bed to check Joe is tucked in okay because these rooms can get cold even on summer nights. What he doesn’t expect is his hand to come into contact with Joe’s bare chest. Chris rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh as he pulls his hand back.

“Get under the blanket, you drunken idiot,” Chris laughs, he tries not to, you don’t want to encourage Joe if you can help it. Again, Joe is quiet for a long time (a long time for Joe anyway), then there is shuffling and Chris’ blanket is being lifted. Chris lets out what can only be described as a squeal. It’s mostly shock, but partly because Joe was right, it was a bit cold. Before Chris has a chance to make a grab for the blanket, Joe is in his bed, pulling the blanket over both of them.

“See it’s warmer up here, hot air rises and everything,” Joe says as he snuggles closer to Chris. Chris can feel Joe’s breath on his face, the faint smell of beer reminding him that Joe should be too drunk for that train of thought. Chris shuffles back, putting some space between them but the moment he does Joe moves into the space. 

“Chris?” Joe asks, his breath warm against Chris’ face. Joe moves closer, his nose bumping against Chris’. Chris moves his face back slightly before answering.

“Yes, Joe?”

“Can I kiss you?” Chris takes an audible breath but that’s all he can manage in reply. Joe’s fingers close the gap and gently trail over Chris’ forearm. The touch is fleeting as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again and with it Joe’s breath tickling across his face.

“Wait...” Chris’ says, his voice slightly rough which reminds him that he hasn’t spoken since Joe did last and it also explains Joe’s retreating form. This time it’s Chris that reaches a hand out to close the space, his hand resting on Joe’s hip. It stops Joe from moving away, but it doesn’t help any words come for himself. He’d never thought about kissing Joe, but with the opportunity there he finds himself wanting to. So he does, leaning forward to close the gap between them. At first his lips come into contact with Joe’s nose, Joe laughs softly before tilting his head up so their lips meet.

The rest, as they say, is history. 

The point is that Chris is here now, leaning against a wall at some end of year party with Joe facing up to bat. Whiskey bottle in hand. The usual composure at the crease gone in favour of giggles and unsteady feet. He makes the motion of tapping the ‘bat’ on the ground, the way he does before he cuts an unsuspecting bowler for 4. For a moment, Chris isn’t going to intervene, but then again he doesn’t want to have to explain any of this to anyone. 

“Joe?” he asks, pushing himself to be standing between batsman and bowler.

“Yes, love?” Joe doesn’t lift his head to look at him, attention focused through him, on the bowler. His, completely sober, opening bowling partner, Mark, who really should know better.

“Why are you attempting to bat with a bottle?” Chris steps closer and then Joe looks up at him, upset that Chris will be impacting his over rate.

“Because, well, because I decided a bottle would be better than an actual bat because where am I going to find one of them?” Joe looks down at the bottle in his hand, as though for the first time he’s noticed he’s batting with a bottle, not a bat.

“There’s one in your bag,” Chris says as reaches to take the bottle from Joe, then he indicates towards Joe’s kit bag which hasn’t made its way inside yet. Joe looks over at the bag and grins, cheeky and troublesome. 

“Oh,” Joe says, almost sad as he realises the bottle is being taken away from him.

“Maybe now isn’t a good time to start my career defining innings?” Joe concedes as Mark rolls the taped tennis ball long the ground, letting out half celebration as the balls rolls into the makeshift bin-stumps. The party clears out pretty quick with the spectacle of bottle cricket off the cards. Mark is last, after helping clean up the mess of empty and half empty bottles from the yard that he had no hand in creating.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Chris holds a hand out to Joe, who had curled up on the sofa once the crowd had started to thin. 

“Can’t move, dying,” Joe says with a groan, but his hand reaches out for Chris’ and between them they manage to get Joe to his feet. Chris helps him get undressed, well he gets Joe undressed. In public he’s glad Joe isn’t a ‘I hate my clothes’ sort of drunk, but in private he wishes it wasn’t such a battle. Joe murmuring about how Chris should ‘at least take him on a date first’ to which Chris reminds them they went on a date the night before, and Chris had paid, even for the large popcorn that Joe had almost finished during the trailers. Once Chris gets Joe under the covers, he goes to the kitchen for a glass of water and a couple of painkillers to put on the bedside table for Joe in the morning. When he returns, Joe is asleep on his stomach, a soft snore followed by a little huff of every breath. Chris gets under the covers, leaning over to press a kiss to Joe’s bare shoulder. Joe’s snoring is interrupted as he shuffles, rolling so he can rest his head on Chris’ chest. Chris can feel him smile.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold in here?”


End file.
